by Matt Drabble
“The window wall.” She pointed. “I would have seen his reflection in the glass.”
“He could have worn a mask?”
“No, not him; he wanted her to see him, to see all of him.”
“So you do know something about him.”
“Not enough,” Jane admitted. “Not nearly enough.”
“You still can’t get a fix on him?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting closer. Right now I feel like an amateur boxer stepping in the ring with the heavyweight champ and swinging wildly, but those old reflexes are coming back, Danny. It’s slow work but I’ve never been involved with anyone who had my gift and was able to use it against me in such a way. He’s able to force visions into my head and only show me what he wants to.”
“Why? Why you? Is it just because you share the same… ability, or is it something more personal?”
“Now that is a good question, Detective.”
“It seems like all we’ve got here are questions, Jane; it’s about time that we got some bloody answers,” Danny growled.
“Well all right then,” Jane sighed. “Let’s take a look.”
She hadn’t wanted to replay Marion’s death. She had been grateful that the killer had at least spared her that experience but Danny was right - it was time to start pushing back.
She stood in the centre of the room and let her mind empty. She shook the tension from her shoulders and relaxed her body one inch at a time until she was in tune with both worlds. Marion’s presence was close by now and she could feel the woman’s rage. That anger was useless to her and tended to blind more than illuminate, but the woman’s essence was strong and Jane used that fuel.
The world faded away as the swinging scythe cut through time and space until she stood at the threshold of the Shadow World where death lived.
The last act of the gruesome play and the first that she had to endure was Jacob Yeller being ushered in through the front door to his doom. Jane could tell that this had not been in the killer’s plan and for the first time she sensed a little hesitation and apprehension in the man. Yeller’s death was mercifully quick as he was led into the lounge to see Marion’s dying body on the ground. His throat was slit from behind and his body was dragged to the bathroom, discarded as meaningless.
Jane steeled herself as Marion was laid bare, stripped of clothing and life. She felt the woman’s screams and bucking pain as the blade cut deeply into her flesh, the carving mark of the Crucifier.
The drawn blinds covered the window wall as she’d feared and the killer was obscured from her. Normally, Jane was able to thrust herself into the scene and find something to identify the killer; it had been her way when helping Danny’s father. But now this man seemed to know every trick that she had in her locker and was blocking her at every turn.
She stepped around the butchering, trying to ignore the sound of wet thuds as the killer started to undo his work as time ran backwards. She tried to concentrate on the room, to look for any reflective surfaces, to catch a scent of anything identifiable, to hear a voice, an accent, anything, but there was nothing.
Marion Ramsey was sucked down from her chains as the carnage ran in reverse. Her face folded and knitted back together, thankfully, as her clothes returned and her body became whole again. Jane watched as the formidable woman fought for her life, running through the apartment - even chasing the killer at one point, and Jane admired her even more. Eventually, the scene was finished and she was left with the sight of Marion staring down at a collection of photo frames with melancholy in her eyes.
The play was done and Jane headed for the exit when the scene slowly morphed into another. This time she was watching the outside of the same building from a hidden vantage point. There were several press men and women standing watch outside as she moved through the undergrowth on the other side of the street. She could see a car pulling up, a large 4x4 that looked oddly familiar, and then she saw herself climb out and wait by the rear entrance.
This was earlier, this was just now, she mused. Somehow, her self-inflicted vision had crossed streams with the killer’s. He had been watching the apartment building when she’d turned up less than 10 minutes ago.
She backed out as slowly as she could manage so as to not alert the man to her presence in his head. She stepped back across the threshold to find Danny waiting for her. “He’s here,” she whispered, in case the killer could sense her thoughts. “Outside. He watched me arrive.”
Danny moved faster than she thought possible and he was out the door before she could stop him. She bolted after him and struggled to keep up as he leapt down the stairs three at a time. He burst out through the door onto the street and stood looking frantically around in all directions.
She caught up to him by the kerb, panting with the effort. It was only when she reached his side that a car engine roared into life somewhere across the street and then Danny was running for his car with his keys out.
“Get out of here!” he roared as she ran alongside him.
“Not a chance!” she yelled back as they reached his car.
The automated locking system opened all doors at the same time, allowing her to jump into the passenger seat, ignoring his furious stare. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
He peeled away from the kerb, swinging the car around and ignoring the horn blares of the traffic coming in the opposite direction as it swerved to avoid them.
“Left!” Jane shouted, pointing to a side street as she could still feel the killer’s scent on the air. It was faint, but as long as they stayed close, she could follow.
Danny screamed around the corner in an expert slide. “Where?” he yelled.
“Right, up ahead,” Jane answered as she struggled to fix her seatbelt into its housing while gripping the handle above the door.
The streets were residential and not built for speed. Panicked faces on either side stared open-mouthed as the two cars flew by. Speed bumps in the road, built to slow down drivers, bounced them in the air as they took them too fast.
They rounded the right-hand turn and for the first time Jane caught sight of the car that they were chasing. It was the same silver rental that been following her before, the photographer’s car. “The silver Toyota,” she pointed and Danny nodded.
The street opened up into a commercial district with wider roads but more vehicles. Jane held her breath as they swerved in and out of the traffic. Large delivery lorries mingled with smaller cars and buses. They followed the silver car and darted into an empty bus lane that ran along the outside lane of the road to avoid the stalled vehicles at a set of traffic lights.
An elderly shopper belied his years as he managed to jump back out of the way, angrily waving his walking stick in the air as the Toyota mounted the pavement. Jane was almost certain that the car had swerved to try and hit the old man.
Danny swung back out into the centre of the road as more people rushed to the aid of the old man and blocked their path. Vehicles seemed to be coming at them in all directions and the Toyota made a break for it, caring little for the safety of pedestrians as he continued to drive along the pavement.
Danny skidded sideways as they took another turn and the car threatened to tip over; the only thing that stopped them was when they crashed into a row of parked cars, sending sparks from crushed metal up in the air. Danny righted the car and up ahead Jane could see the Toyota increasing its speed as the road opened up to meet the dual-carriageway that headed out of town.
The luck of the Devil himself seemed to riding co-pilot in the Toyota as the car shot through the junction, miraculously missing every car coming in the opposite direction at top speed.
“Get him, get him,” Jane snarled as Danny stamped on the accelerator.
They flew past the stop sign and Jane’s hands flew to her face as a huge articulated lorry slammed on its brakes and started to twist towards them from the left. The sun was suddenly blocked out by the huge truck as it loomed over them. The sound of screami
ng tyres and burning rubber filled the air before the collision.
Danny’s car was no match for the lorry and it crumpled beneath the impact. Jane heard glass shattering and showering her face in sharp shards before her head hit the windscreen and the world went black.
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The man slammed his hand down hard on the table top. Shockwaves of pain radiated up his tender arm, but he ignored the burden, feeling that the punishment was insufficient for his carelessness.
The back wall was covered in photographs pinned up with care and precision. Jane Parkes was depicted in various poses from various distances and angles. He had blown one image up so that her eyes were huge and dominating. He stared deeply into the dark orbs and touched the glossy paper tenderly, his fingers tracing loving gentle circles.
He had been pushing her hard, testing the boundaries of her flaccid mind. His anger was ripe that she would cast aside such a gift from God and allow it to flounder. He had probed the corners of her second sight, introducing alien images to her in order to get her to push back. At first she had been easy prey, so much so that he was truly disappointed, but now she was starting to bite. Her mind was strong, stronger than even she knew, and the speed with which she had grown in strength had caught him badly off guard. He had been watching her and the policeman enter Marion Ramsey’s apartment building. The taste of death had still been fresh in his mouth and he’d grown sloppy, he knew that now. He’d wanted to watch her work, to see her up close and feel her power unimpeded by distance. But by being so close she had somehow managed to tap into him, to reverse the process that he had been so carefully running, and she’d almost caught him.
He’d fled from the scene like a common criminal. He’d screamed down narrow streets with endless eyes watching him and potential witnesses around every turn. Only but for the grace of God had he gotten away, but his triumph had soon turned to ashes in his mouth. Now all he had was the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that his world could crumble around him at any minute. His ego had taken over and left his meticulously constructed plans at the whim of pedestrians’ memories.
His work was far from completed and now that the ball had been set in motion, there was so little time left.
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Randall Zerneck drove the rental car with some difficulty. His left hand was in a cast with a fractured wrist and two broken fingers, courtesy of Alfonso Ramsey’s goon. The media magnate had made it crystal clear that Randall’s investigation was over; the Crucifier case was dead and if Randall didn’t want to join it, he would back off. As a result, he was currently driving up the motorway to tackle the investigation from another angle, one from the past.
Lana Genovese’s mother had let it slip that her daughter had, for a while, been pursued by some creepy kid from bible camp … Martin something. He had known almost as soon as he’d left the grieving home that his instincts had grown weak over time. It had been so long since he’d needed to use his brain that it was a flabby muscle. He hadn’t probed the woman for anything of use to track down either the kid bothering her daughter or even the bible camp in question. He’d still been able to use The Globe’s resources then and had only managed to uncover the fact that one such bible camp had been closed down under a cloud. When any religious organisation that dealt with young children had to suddenly shut its doors, one couldn’t help but think of abuse. The problem was that the church behind the camp had significant reach, enough to seal off any avenue of questions. He hadn’t been able to find a single person to talk to about the camp or about a certain kid named Martin. Now, with Mr Ramsey shutting him down and warning him off, it made sense to get out of Faircliff for a few days and look backwards.
Arthur Durage had been unmasked as the Crucifier killer some 8 years ago. The man had been caught in his basement drowning in evidence. He had been shot and killed by Karl Meyers but not before fatally wounding the detective. There were two other people present: Jane Parkes, a supposed psychic, and Lana Genovese, who had yet to succumb to being the Crucifier’s latest victim. Because of Jane Parkes’ presence and occupation, the investigation had been closed with eye-watering speed and Durage had been labelled as the killer and buried.
Randall had always wondered why a man so seemingly able to kill without leaving a trace had decided to stock his own basement to the brim with damning forensic facts, enough to hang him a thousand times over.
Arthur Durage’s body had been returned to his home town of Brightford some 100 miles north of Faircliff for a discreet burial arranged by a local charity that had remained nameless. Randall had spent what resources he’d had left trying to uncover just where Durage’s body had been taken, but the location had been tough to find. He figured that it was necessary to keep the grave away from the ghoulish tourists that would have flocked to the site, eager for a twisted peek at a monster. What the UK seemed to lack in sheer numbers of serial killers, they seemed to make up for with the perverse obsession of them.
He had the car’s air conditioning cranked up to full, as no matter what he seemed to do, he still felt hot all of the time. When the nurse had been setting his hand at the hospital she had wanted him to stay overnight. Her face had watched him warily, her eyes running a gauntlet and gauging his feverish forehead and frail frame. But he’d slipped out when the plaster had been drying, keen to spend whatever time he had left finishing his work. His books were severely in the red and they had to be balanced before the end. He could not afford to be a doctor’s pincushion.
He made good time to Brightford, as most people at this time of the year were heading away from the towns and cities towards the coast for the holidays. The roads were largely clear and he found himself driving past the town limit’s sign by late afternoon.
Brightford was a gritty and dark industrial town that had lost most of its industry many years ago. Randall drove through a downtown area that was mainly closed for business; windows were boarded and doors were locked. Hungry eyes peered out of dark shadows as the faceless moved, disturbed by the intrusion of the rental car.
Randall checked his map and pulled out the first of three graveyard addresses; apparently, the dead still needed burying.
The first site was soon upon him and he was glad for the summer sun that still shone down warmly. As he parked and then exited the car, the hot air hit him hard outside of the car’s blissful air conditioning. His legs felt weak as he walked forwards but he pressed on regardless. His mind was still sharp even if his body was failing and he still had a job to do.
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Danny paced nervously up and down the hospital corridor. His left eye was blackened and his right knee was strapped, but other than that he had gotten off lightly. Jane was still under observation as she’d taken a heavy blow to the head and had been unconscious for some time.
Danny looked down with distaste at the brown sludge in the paper cup from the vending machine. It had been labelled “coffee”, but he was quite sure that he could successfully sue them under the Trade Descriptions Act.
The phone in his pocket buzzed again. He partially obeyed he hospital’s policy by at least making the phone look like it was switched off. He had no intention of waiting outside of the front door when Jane was lying in a hospital bed all thanks to him; he would have done the same for any of his team.
The phone vibrated again and he checked it, although he had no need to see the name on the screen. Nathan had been ringing for the past couple of hours ever since the news about the high speed pursuit and subsequent accident had broken. Danny was finding that after a lifetime of only having to care about himself and the job, having a loved one at home could as much a hindrance as a pleasure.
DS Landing was sitting in an uncomfortable chair across the hallway from him as he paced. She was working on a large baguette and seemed to be spilling more than she was consuming. The sergeant had insisted on staying even after he had been released and he’d only agreed when the rest of his team had agreed to leave. He knew tha
t he was in the mother of all dressing-downs when he headed back to the station. Chalmers, and no doubt Barrett, would be eager for the tale of how he’d lost the Crucifier in broad daylight, not to mention the fact that the chase had been the lead story on the TV news all afternoon. He had to give the bureaucrats credit though, as there hadn’t been any mention of the case specifically and, as yet, there was only speculation as to the reason for the pursuit.
“Inspector Meyers?” a nurse called over to him, dragging him out of his thoughts.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Your wife is asking for you.”
Danny didn’t bother correcting the nurse; it only expedited his agenda and his access to Jane if the hospital thought that he was family.
He followed the nurse into the room and immediately winced as he spotted the large purple swelling on Jane’s head. “Damn, that looks painful,” he said.
To her credit, she offered a small smile in return. “Where the hell did you learn to drive? I thought that all cops were Hollywood action heroes?”
“I guess I forgot my stunt double,” he grinned. His phone buzzed again in his pocket and a nurse attending to a bed opposite shot him a filthy glare.
“Nicolas? Neil?” she asked, squinting as though concentrating hard.
“Nathan,” Danny answered in a low voice.
“Serious?”
“He certainly likes to think so.”
“And you prefer to play the field? I guess that a man of any orientation is still a man,” she chided.
“Not exactly. More like married to the job,” he shrugged, sitting in a chair beside the bed.
“Ah … that old chestnut! A man scared of commitment … another true stereotype” she laughed.
“How’s the head?”
“Well, it only hurts when I’m awake.”
“Has it messed up…, you know, your transmissions?” he whispered, leaning in close.
“It’ll take more than a bump on the noggin for that,” she replied a little distantly. “You know once, when I was away at college, I was so sick and tired of getting flashes all day long, always knowing what the guy I was dating was thinking about.”